Dweeb

by Aaron Starmer

  As the spotlight beamed down on a tiny girl in a white dress, Eddie finally recognized someone. It was Sally Dibbs, the new girl from the Midwest. Eddie had heard her sing in music class before. She sounded like, well, a pip-squeak.

  But when Sally snatched the microphone from the stand and began singing now, her voice was huge.

  Ho-Ho-Kus, how sweet a school

  That taught me how to sing

  Within my heart,

  And from my mouth

  This song will always ring!

  The stage lights came on and Sally was joined by a swarm of kids in matching red T-shirts and blue jeans. The T-shirts were emblazoned with the slogan:

  HO-HO-KUS! WHERE HOME IS HYPHENATED!

  That was when he started recognizing faces. Mary Dobski. Ray Felton. Hal Melman. These weren’t talented performers, like Bijay. These weren’t brownnosers, like Denton. Heck, they weren’t even athletic, like Eddie. These were the type of students who went to school because they had to, who spent more afternoons in detention than at extracurricular activities.

  A blast of music roared forth. It was the tune to “God Bless America.” Everyone onstage began a synchronized dance routine, and they sang in haunting harmony, their voices getting louder with every line:

  We love Ho-Ho-Kus

  Celebrates our goals

  We believe her, never leave her

  ’Cause she’s kind to our minds and our souls

  From Waldwick, down to Ridgewood

  To the parkway—thick with cars

  We love Ho-Ho-Kus

  It’s written in the stars

  Weeee … loooove … Ho-Ho-Kus

  This humble school of ours!

  As the song reached its climax, the kids linked hands and made a heart formation. They danced at an astounding speed. In the middle of the heart, a smaller group of kids started tossing each other into the air.

  What would have been a spectacular cheerleading stunt was rendered even more stunning by the impeccable timing. In the flashing lights and pounding music, kids flipped and twirled and were caught and tossed right back into the air until the whole thing resembled a fireworks display.

  Weeee … loooove … Ho-Ho-Kus

  This humble school of ours!

  Every kid was utterly possessed, and the audience was utterly entranced. It was simultaneously the nerdiest, creepiest, and most wondrous thing Eddie had ever seen. As the audience exploded into applause, he felt a chill grip his body so tightly he feared it might never let him go.

  Chapter 16

  BIJAY

  From his bunk, Bijay watched Wendell work away on the computer. He was slowly rocking back and forth as he typed, almost as if he were keeping a rhythm. If I ever play a computer programmer, Bijay thought, I’ll make sure to do the same.

  “I think Eddie’s back,” Wendell said.

  Bijay turned so that Wendell didn’t realize he was being watched.

  As Wendell backed away from the hole, Eddie’s face appeared. He had gotten better at squeezing through, and was quickly back in the room.

  “So?” Denton asked.

  “Remember our classmates? They’re zombies now,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. He flopped down onto a bunk and massaged his scalp.

  “The flesh-eating type?” Bijay asked, his mind awash with images of a decrepit horde, arms out, rigid-kneed, moving slow. Just like in the movies.

  “Not really,” Eddie said. “They were talented. Organized. They did the most incredible song-and-dance routine. People loved it.”

  “Not exactly what one thinks of as zombies, Edward,” Denton said.

  Eddie sprung up from the bunk and gestured wildly as he spoke. “I know, I know, but their eyes. They were all like … brainwashed. Remember Tyler? Exactly the same. I don’t know what’s happening, but kids are changing.”

  He then began explaining the PTA meeting in detail. Bijay was jealous to have missed it. It sounded like the finest show the school had ever put on.

  “So, what you’re telling us,” Denton said, crossing his arms, “is that everyone in our school has turned into dancing zombies, and everyone else is thrilled by this?”

  “I don’t know if people are thrilled,” Eddie said. “But apparently kids are doing better in school. Heck, they’re even having a pep rally on Thursday, they’re so excited about the stupid Idaho Tests. Parents go nuts for that sort of thing.”

  “What about our parents?” Wendell asked.

  “They were there,” Eddie said. “And they looked good. It seems like they may actually believe we’re in Canada. Or at least they’re pretending to.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Elijah said, wiping his glasses on his MacGyver T-shirt. “Think about it. Idaho Tests coming up. Snodgrass tightens the screws. He tricks the cool kids, or blackmails or bribes them, and makes them straighten up. The rest of the kids follow like sheep.”

  “Peer pressure? Trust me, this is a lot more than peer pressure,” Eddie said. “If you saw it, you’d understand.”

  “Did you see Nurse Bloom?” Wendell asked.

  “You can forget about Nurse Bloom,” Eddie said. “Snodgrass made an announcement. She’s gone.”

  “What?” Wendell said, standing up.

  “She abandoned us,” Eddie said. “Or Snodgrass got to her. Who knows? She’s just gone. She failed.”

  Wendell took two steps forward and in one swift motion, he punched Eddie square in the nose. The shot sent him rocketing against the wall and onto the floor.

  “Don’t ever say that about her!” Wendell’s voice was half bark and half whimper. “She did what she could. She’s doing what she can. She never fails.”

  Bijay froze. When Eddie pulled himself up, Denton and Elijah went to his side.

  “Eddie?” Denton said with concern. Then he placed his hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

  Wendell climbed into one of the bunks and rolled over to face the wall.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” Eddie said, rubbing his face.

  But Bijay wasn’t fine. He started to feel sick to his stomach. He hated what he had just seen. He hated what he had just heard. And he hated a thought that was invading his mind.

  “What exactly is going on with Mackers?”

  Bijay remembered the first time he ever tasted Mackers. He had arrived at Newark International Airport on a flight that originated in Delhi, India. He was five years old and had flown the entire way by himself.

  A flight attendant accompanied him through the terminal until they were greeted by his cousin, a smiling young man named Vikram. The attendant gave Bijay a loving pat on the head and handed him his backpack, which was filled with photographs of his parents.

  “Best of luck,” she said.

  “We are the lucky ones,” Vikram said, shaking his tiny hand. “We have the honor of welcoming Bijay to our home.”

  Bijay forced a smile.

  “Grandfather and Grandmother will be in India for a little longer than expected,” Vikram explained. “Just a few more of your parents’ things to take care of, so you’ll be staying with me until they get back. You are okay with this?”

  Bijay nodded. He didn’t really have a choice.

  As Vikram led the way out of the airport, Bijay walked slowly, taking in as much as he could. He wasn’t exactly scared of his new home, but it was certainly overwhelming. The India he knew was a crowded and busy place, but there was a different sort of energy to America. It wasn’t that there were more people. There weren’t. There were just more lights.

  And the biggest light of all was Peter Pickle, a glowing neon statue mounted on a metal rod and spinning above the entrance to the food court’s Mackers. Bijay stopped and stared at it, captured by its gentle motion.

  “Ah, Mackers,” Vikram said. “But they have Mackers in India now too, right?”

  Bijay nodded.

  “You’ve never actually eaten it, though, have you?”

  Bijay shook his head.

  “Well,” Vikram said,
“this may be your last chance for a little while. Grandfather and Grandmother do not serve beef in their house. They are good Hindus. Your parents were Hindus too, correct?”

  Bijay shrugged his shoulders.

  “Did they eat beef?”

  Bijay shook his head.

  “Well, I do. In America, people say you have the freedom to do what you like. And you, my little friend, should let me know if you’d like to eat some Mackers. It won’t offend me if you don’t.” Vikram smiled.

  Bijay didn’t need to hear anything else. He led the way into the restaurant, straight to the counter, where Vikram ordered him a Burger Buddy Meal with a hamburger, a fruit cup, and a Peter Pickle finger puppet.

  It wasn’t necessarily love at first bite. But after chomping down on his first Mackers hamburger, Bijay really wanted another taste. He wanted to sit in that booth forever, to eat and eat and not think about all the new things that were waiting for him outside.

  As he ate the hamburger, each bite became more and more familiar. Before he knew it, the hamburger was gone, and while he wasn’t really hungry anymore, he probably could have eaten another three.

  “Good, right?” Vikram said.

  “The best,” Bijay said, the first words he spoke in America.

  Eight years and hundreds of burgers later, the thought of Mackers was now leaving a bad taste in Bijay’s mouth. Something sinister was afoot.

  “Seriously, guys.” Bijay sighed. “Have you thought about Mackers?”

  “We have an assault here and you’re yapping about hamburgers?” Denton said.

  “No, really, think about it,” Bijay said. “Mackers started serving food on Monday. That’s when kids started changing. Remember what Eddie said about the cafeteria? Mackers, the Idaho Tests, it all fits together.”

  “Sounds a bit science fiction,” Denton said. “If—”

  Before he could say another word, there was a deep rumble in the walls. The growl was back.

  “And what does that sound like?” Bijay said, suddenly defensive. “Sounds a bit horror to me.”

  Denton gulped. Then he nodded, conceding the point.

  Bijay wasn’t happy about it. Mackers was like a friend to him. He’d defend its name to anyone. He’d sneak it into his house at night, and when his grandparents were sleeping, he would scarf down the burgers as he watched movies on his laptop. He trusted Mackers. He trusted that it would always be the same no matter where he bought it, when he ate it, or how he was feeling.

  Now his school was changing, and Mackers was at the heart of it. Bijay wondered how he could ever have been so gullible. He found himself panting heavily, his lungs trying to keep up with his pounding heart. He leaned against the wall.

  “We all need to calm down,” Eddie said. It was the last thing Bijay expected to hear from Eddie. “Did he, um …” Eddie pointed to Wendell, who was still curled up on the bed. “Get the computer going?”

  Wendell didn’t move or make a sound.

  “We need a user name and password,” Denton explained. “Useless without them.”

  “Don’t computer guys just type away and then the screen fills up with a bunch of flashing letters and numbers and then, kabam!” Elijah said. “You’re in the system.”

  “That’s what someone would do in a Bourne movie,” Bijay lamented.

  “This isn’t a movie. This is real life,” Denton said.

  Real life? Real life is being imprisoned in your school? Real life is your classmates acting like zombies? It was feeling less like real life to Bijay with every moment. He was surprised that there weren’t hidden cameras watching their every move. He was surprised Jacob Wade wasn’t out quoting everything they said.

  Wait a second, he thought. Of course.

  “It is a movie,” he said excitedly. “It’s all a movie.”

  “I wish it were,” Elijah grumbled.

  “No, really. There’s proof that we’re innocent!” Bijay shouted. “There’s proof about Mackers, about Snodgrass, about everything. We just have to go out and get it!”

  Chapter 17

  WENDELL

  The others huddled in the corner of the room and spoke in hurried whispers while Wendell remained on the bunk. His exile was self-imposed. Still, he doubted they wanted him involved in their scheming. He couldn’t believe he had hit Eddie. His rage had come on so quickly; he hardly realized what he was doing. And it wasn’t exactly something he could take back.

  Useless—that was Denton’s assessment of Wendell’s computer. Essentially, he was right. Without a user name and password, it was useless. Wendell’s work had been for nothing, and as the others discussed their plan, he knew it was best just to stay out of their way. His skills had been tested, and proven to be failures.

  As Wendell lay there, he caught just a few words: Jacob Wade. DVDs. Locker. Cheerleaders. Flour. Wendell.

  He could only imagine what they were saying about him. He plugged his ears with little bits of paper and faded off to sleep.

  On Wednesday morning, McKenzie entered the room with bloodshot eyes.

  “Morning. Morning. Rise and shine,” he said, forcing the words out.

  Wendell scanned the room. For now, everything was well hidden. There was nothing to spark McKenzie’s suspicion.

  McKenzie set down the morning’s breakfast. “Everyone is holdin’ up?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Denton said.

  Then the coach pulled up a chair. He let out a grunt as he eased his large body onto the seat. Wendell could sympathize.

  “Two more days,” McKenzie said. “That was the deal, right?”

  “According to Snodgrass,” Elijah said.

  “Let me tell you something about deals,” McKenzie said. “The only deal you should make is the one to be true to what you believe. Break that deal, and you find yourself… well …”

  “What are you saying?” Denton asked.

  “I’m just talking,” McKenzie said, rubbing his eyes. “Eat up, guys. Stay strong. You’re doing well. I’m so … I’m … Eat up.”

  Then McKenzie pulled himself to his feet. He gave them a toothless smile. As he pushed the door open, he sighed. At least, that was how it sounded to Wendell.

  “I didn’t like that one bit,” Elijah said. “Something’s changed. I don’t think he plans to let us out. We really have to get out of here.”

  “Easier said than done,” Denton said. “Tomorrow’s the pep rally and the day after that is the Idaho Tests. To stop whatever Snodgrass is doing, we’d have to do it before then, and we still haven’t figured out how to open any of the doors.”

  “Could Eddie do it all alone?” Bijay said.

  “I’m fast,” Eddie said. “I’m not magic.”

  Wendell listened to them from the bunk. They were capable guys, and he was sure that whatever they had spent all night planning was clever enough. But they were still in way over their heads. Magic was probably about all that would help them.

  From his pocket, Wendell pulled out a pencil and the tattered Sudoku puzzle. He wished he had a whole book of them. After he finished this one, what else could he do to pass the time?

  He started plugging in numbers—a three here, an eight there. Wendell had gotten to the point that he rarely made mistakes, yet he found himself stumped. It wasn’t working. He looked at the top of the puzzle.

  Solutions to our problems? True heroes employ patience. Every puzzle requires abilities life leaves you.

  He started over: a nine here, a two there, a six …

  It still wasn’t working. Even the puzzle that Nurse Bloom had given him was useless. She had let him down in every possible way.

  He read over the strange message again. It was written in looping cursive, as elegant as the nurse herself. He ran his finger over the ink. Then he stopped.

  He felt excitement bubbling up inside him. It was the same feeling he got when doing an equation. There was always a solution. Always a path to the end. Sometimes he just had to start over and look at
things differently.

  “Stop the pep rally!” he yelled.

  He sat up and banged his head against the bunk. It didn’t stop him. He thrust the Sudoku puzzle in the air and shook it.

  “She didn’t abandon us,” he continued. “She left us a code.”

  “What are you talking about?” Denton said.

  “The message. It’s an acronym,” Wendell said. “Nurse Bloom slipped it past Snodgrass. See what she wrote: Solutions to our problems? True heroes employ patience. Every puzzle requires abilities life leaves you. Take the first letter of each word and you get Stop the Pep Rally!”

  Denton’s eyes narrowed for a second. “Okay?” he said. “That’s wonderful. But it doesn’t help us.”

  “It helps when you have the combinations to the doors!”

  “What?” Denton said.

  “This isn’t a Sudoku puzzle,” Wendell explained. “In Sudoku, you line up all the numbers one through nine in all the lines, and you put the numbers one through nine in all the boxes. You can’t duplicate any of the numbers in any of the lines or boxes. Obviously, you have to be given some numbers as a starting point.”

  “So? Seems easy enough,” Denton said.

  Wendell rolled his eyes. “You see, on this one, on Bloom’s puzzle, the starting point numbers she gave me don’t work. The puzzle can’t be solved.”

  “So she’s not a puzzle master.”

  “But they’ll work as combinations for the doors!” Wendell shouted.

  “How can you be so sure of that?” Denton asked.

  “Because when she gave it to me, she told me, ‘Open it when you’re ready,’” Wendell said. “She didn’t mean the envelope. She meant the door. She said she’d get us out of here. And Nurse Bloom kept her word!”

  “And she wants us to stop the pep rally?” Denton asked.

  “That’s what it says.” Wendell smiled.

  “Which is a coincidence,” Elijah said. “’Cause we were thinking the same thing.”

  “We should tell Wendell the plan,” Bijay stated with a firm nod. “Perhaps he can help.”